


on the borderline

by princelouisau



Series: pillow talk [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Louis, Dom/sub Undertones, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut, Top Harry, larry endgame, mild to moderate zouis pain, slight pain kink???, the smut is larry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29243763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princelouisau/pseuds/princelouisau
Summary: Louis takes a deep breath, allowing Zayn’s silence to wash over him, “I just don’t love you as much as I love him. I can’t… I just— I can’t.”“I know.” The reply is soft, softer than he thinks he deserves.or, Louis makes his choice.
Relationships: (brief), Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson
Series: pillow talk [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147451
Comments: 25
Kudos: 122





	on the borderline

**Author's Note:**

> title from borderline by tame impala! 
> 
> reading the first part before this isn't super necessary but definitely recommended (it's only 1k so! do it!)
> 
> quick thank you's <33 main thanks to pip who put up with me going on about this constantly and read each part over for me far too many times, i would never have finished this without your support, i love u <3  
> thank you to ni for hyping me up always, you know this fic is for you and i'm sorry, again, for k wording zouis.  
> thank you to kin as well for being the sweetest! 
> 
> and a big, big thank you to everyone who was so supportive of the first part. the comments meant so much to me and lead me to write this which is the longest thing i've ever written (sad, lol) i'm hugging you all in spirit <3
> 
> i'll shut up now anyway i hope you enjoy this

The bus is cramped. His bunk on the bus even more cramped with Harry’s hulking form pressed up against him. Louis isn’t entirely sure where they’re headed right now, only knows that they are hours away from whichever hotel they’ll be herded into. Whenever he bothers to look out of one of the many windows, all he sees is cows and sheep and maybe a horse if he’s lucky. It’s fucking boring.

Joyous laughter floats up from the lounge area and he hides his amused smile in Harry’s hair, though nobody is here to catch his fondness. His boys have always been shit at keeping quiet.

Harry doesn’t sleep on the buses often, always says the motion makes him too restless. Louis isn’t sure what changed today. Things have been weird, a tension filling the air around them even in the most mundane moments. He knows it’s because of him, them, this situation.

He’s stayed away from Zayn since his last sleepless night a few weeks ago. Well, as much as someone can stay away from their best friend when they spend every waking hour together. He needs the space though, needs to not end up underneath him right now. It’s always too hard to think when they fuck. Even just a kiss is too much. Zayn’s love is too all-encompassing.

The space hasn’t helped all that much.

Harry’s always there, his presence forcing the pit of guilt in his stomach to rise until it lodges in his throat and threatens to choke him. The choice should be easy, he shouldn’t be so indecisive. It’s not fair. He thinks he might be the worst person in the world right now. He has a man who loves and adores him, who he loves and adores in return. A man who is clinging on to him in his sleep right now like he’s scared the smaller man will run away. Maybe he will.

A sigh escapes his lips as he nestles further into the sleeping body. He needs to think. He needs to choose. Now.

Closing his eyes, he lets his thoughts drift where he usually does not dare to let them drift. The future.

———-

It’s always weird, Louis thinks, being in hotel rooms. After all this time in and out of different and yet tiringly similar spaces, he’s never really gotten used to it. There’s a reason he usually prefers the bus, it smells like home. Most of the time if he’s dragged himself into a hotel room, it’s for Harry’s sake, so they can be together away from their nosy friends. This time, Harry isn’t here.

The last few traces of the oddly sweet-smelling smoke dance in the air above them, the end of the joint lay forgotten in an ashtray on the bed-side table. They don’t usually smoke when they fuck. He’s never been sure why, sometimes wondering to himself if it’s because they both want to be clear-headed. To remember every second.

Zayn was the one to suggest it, right after they both finished and collapsed into a sweaty tangle of limbs. Louis is almost sure that he knows, he always fucking knows. He didn’t say no to the smoke because he needs it too. Needs it for this conversation.

They’re both laying on their backs on the too-soft bed, heads turned to face each other. Nothing but smoke and soft breaths have left their lips in a while. It’s quiet. Louis is scared... He’s sure that’s all he is lately. The other man’s eyes keep dropping to his neck and the weed must be slowing his brain down more than usual because it takes a while to click.

“You marked me?” he whispers, the words laced with confusion. They don’t do marks. Nothing beyond quickly fading imprints of passionate touches. Anything more and Harry won’t speak to Zayn for two weeks.

“Why not?” it comes out smug, so smug, but Louis knows him. He can see the pain behind his eyes. Feels it himself. “May as well, right? One for the road.”

“Z--”

“No. Don’t… please. I know you. I know what this is,” he says softly, no anger behind the words, “you don’t have to lie to me, Lou.”

“I love you.” He tries to say it in a way that expresses just how much but it sounds more like a desperate plea, “you know that, right?”

A nod is all he gets in reply, the man choosing instead to reach across the small distance between them and take Louis’s hand in his own, bringing it up to his lips for a tender kiss.

“Fuck,” Louis murmurs, holding back the tears that threaten to spill. He pulls his hand away for a second, only to intertwine their fingers before pulling Zayn’s hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to the tattoo that matches the one on his own skin. It’s not the first time he’s done this. It may be the last, “You deserve more than this. He deserves more than this.”

“Babes…” he pulls the smaller man into his chest and threads his fingers into the fluffy, slightly sweaty hair, “you didn’t drag us into anything we weren’t fully aware of. Me and H, we’ve just been too selfish to give you up. It’s not all on you.”

Louis huffs into the tattooed chest, “Been fucking selfish meself though haven’t I?”

“Can’t say I have any complaints..” The words are swiftly followed up with a hand grabbing at his arse and Louis thinks if he kills Zayn in this shitty hotel room then maybe all of his problems will go away.

“Fuck off, ‘m trying to have a heart to heart here. Wanker.” he says, the sound muffled thanks to his position.

Zayn groans, “Do we have to? I don’t want to kill the buzz I’ve got going right now… surely you can just dump me and we’ll forget about it all.”

The blue-eyed man shakes his head and grunts as he sits up to rest against the headboard. His limbs feel a little heavy and his arse is just a bit sore, but this is unfortunately not a conversation that can be had lying down. Zayn follows suit, foregoing the headboard and instead sitting cross-legged, facing Louis.

“Put your dick away, can’t talk whilst you’re hanging out like that.” he says with a laugh and shoves a pillow into Zayn’s lap, ignoring the smirk he gets in return.

“Ok, now that _that’s_ covered…” he sighs, really wishing this conversation didn’t have to happen. The mood in the room is quickly barrelling downhill, “This has to stop.”

“Did Harry—“

“No. No... this isn’t on him. This is all me,” he’s antsy, his fingers tapping an anxious beat on his bare leg, “I have to man up and make a choice here, you or him. For your sake, for his sake. For my fucking sake. It’s all so confusing now. It used to be fun, just fuckin’ about, and we’d all laugh about it, but now I can’t fucking sleep half the time because all I can see when I close my eyes is the pain this is causing you both.”

Zayn stays quiet as he continues, though he looks as if he’s itching to reach out and comfort his friend. It only serves to make Louis feel worse.

“I didn’t think that blurring the lines of our friendship would turn out like this… I thought it would just be a few quick shags and I’d get these stupid confusing feelings for you out of my system, and I know that’s what he thought too. It must be,” he feels like he’s slowly getting more and more frantic. The tears are edging closer and closer to falling, “I didn’t mean to fall so fucking hard.”

They’ve never really said it before. Saying ‘I love you’ comes easily, daring to acknowledge out loud that it’s deeper? Not so much.

Louis takes a deep breath, allowing Zayn’s silence to wash over him, “I just don’t love you as much as I love him. I can’t… I just— I can’t.”

“I know.” The reply is soft, softer than he thinks he deserves.

The room is silent for a minute or so, the weight of their conversation hanging heavy in the air. Louis considers what he wants to say next. He doesn’t know if it’s worth it; if the thing that’s been unspoken for so long should be set free from its tightly-locked cage.

He can do this. He just needs to say the words…

“I know you want to leave.” There. He’s said it now, can’t take it back no matter how much he wishes he could pluck the words from the air between them and never say them again.

Zayn startles, looking caught. “Leave this room, or—“ he chuckles, an attempt at a diversion that falls flat.

“I haven’t mentioned it to the lads, but I know you. You hate it here,” he says with more certainty than he thinks he’s ever had in his life.

“It’s not—“ he replies with a sigh and runs a hand through his already messed up hair. “I don’t hate you, or them.”

“You just hate what we’re doing?” it comes out as a question but he knows the answer.

“What, d’you blame me? We’re nothing but fuckin’ performing monkeys to them, Lou,” he pleads.

Louis laughs, “‘Course I don’t blame you, twat. I love what we do, love the fans, love my boys, but you know better than anyone how much I hate the whole machine,” he reaches out to flick Zayn on the leg, attempting to give him a reassuring smile, “I can’t say I understand hating it so much that you want to _leave_ , but… Seeing you hurting is so fucking painful. There’s nothing I want more than to see the light come back on in those stupid pretty brown eyes of yours”

Luckily, that earns him a smile. No matter how sad he is, that smile always manages to slip through his defences and warm his insides.

“Awkward semi-relationship aside, you’re the best friend I’ll ever have, Louis.”

“We’ll get through this?” Louis questions, feeling more vulnerable than he wants to feel right now.

“Of course we will, don’t doubt me like that man,” he chuckles, “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Just like that, it feels like he can finally breathe. The air is clear, or as clear as it can be, and he gulps in a lungful of it. He knows in this moment that no matter what happens now, they’ll be okay. He loves Zayn, is _in_ love with him, but those feelings pale in comparison to how much he cherishes him as a friend. Knowing that he won’t lose the other half of his soul is such a relief he can almost feel it seeping from his pores.

It will always come down to that. Zayn is his friend. Zayn knows him, more than anyone. Feelings fade, they _will_ fade, but the depth of his adoration for his best friend and the way he copes with the struggles he has faced and will continue to face is neverending.

“Do you think Harry will forgive me?” Zayn mumbles, bringing Louis out of his thoughts.

Louis just tilts his head in question.

“He’s been off with me ever since this started, even though it was basically his idea,” Zayn shrugs, the movement radiating insecurity, “I just worry that he’ll never be able to see me as a friend again..”

“He’s a right stubborn dick sometimes, but he’ll get over it eventually. He’ll be happy that it’s over now, though I doubt he’s gonna say that to my face,” Louis ponders something for a second before continuing, “though when he sees _this_ , you might want to hide.” he adds with a laugh, pointing to the mark Zayn left on his neck.

“Right. Fuck,” he sounds genuinely panicked, and it’s taking all of Louis’ strength not to laugh at him, “In my defence, you’re hot, and I knew it was the last time. I’ll take whatever punishment His Highness decides fits the crime I committed.”

They can’t stop the laughter that tumbles from their lips at that, the sound bouncing around the room and taking all the lingering unease away with it. When they finally wind down into amused smiles, Zayn shifts until he’s once again next to Louis on the bed, back against the headboard. He opens his arms and grins, “Come in for a cuddle then, buddy.”

Louis snorts, crowding into the other man and laying his head on his shoulder. He smiles when he feels the warm arms envelop him, sneakily reaching up to flick a nipple as he says, “If you ever call me ‘buddy’ again, I’ll chop ye dick off.”

“Noted.”

A jarring buzz makes Louis startle before he realises it’s just the vibration of a phone against the bedside table. He’d almost forgotten that the world is still turning outside of this room. It can’t be his, he thinks, Harry’s with friends and they usually steal his phone because otherwise, he spends all of their time together messaging him. He has everyone else muted (bar his mum, who annoyingly, endearingly, only ever calls).

Zayn jostles him slightly to reach for his phone, looking at it for a second before sighing, “Shit, I gotta go.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll just be here …. alone.” he sighs with all the drama he can muster as he’s left on the bed alone. He flops into the warm space just vacated and watches Zayn lazily pull clothes on.

“Gonna miss seeing me naked?” he calls with a wink over his shoulder, walking into the adjoining bathroom.

Louis groans and buries his face in the sheets, words coming out muffled, “As if I don’t have to see all your dicks on a daily basis, can’t bloody escape them.”

He looks back up just as Zayn exits the bathroom, fully dressed. Louis knows exactly what he’s about to say and he curses the day he met this man. He watches the stupidly handsome man open his stupid smug mouth and say, “You know you love it.”

He walks out of the room faster than Louis has ever seen him move. The pillow he throws at the man’s retreating body instead smacks into the wall and drops pathetically to the floor.

-

“Jesus Louis it stinks of sex in here.” The words are followed by the sound of the door shutting and shoes being kicked into the space against the wall.

Louis jumps, having missed the tell-tale beep of the keycard being swiped. He looks up guiltily as Harry rounds the corner into the bedroom. He’s still sat on the bed, only having moved since Zayn left to piss and lazily pull on underwear. Maybe to wipe his eyes a little, but that’s between him and the bathroom mirror.

“Shit, sorry... I didn’t think you’d be back tonight,” he mutters, eyes flicking back to the tv.

“Wasn’t really enjoying myself,” the taller man replies as he pulls his jacket off. Louis fights the urge to look.

The lighting in the room is dim, only the barely-there glow of a lamp turned all the way down and multi-coloured flickers from the tv illuminating the room. It’s late, he’s not sure how late but definitely late enough that he missed dinner. He remembers, at some point during his breakdown, his phone blaring to life over and over again.

Harry’s still ambling around the room. It’s making Louis nervous, though he isn’t sure why. Suddenly, with a mumbled “fuckin’ dark in here”, a switch is flicked and the room is bathed in light.

The world stops.

“Louis.” Fuck. There it is. His name, dripping with danger.

“I-“ he tries to speak but the words die in his throat because he looks up and Harry is right there. God, he’s gorgeous. The dark shirt he’s wearing is all but plastered to his body, his chest peaking through where he’s already started unbuttoning it. Louis’ eyes move up, past the swallows and the cross and the clenched jaw, to look his boyfriend in the eyes. He’s in trouble.

Before Louis can try and gather his thoughts to say something, he’s being pulled up to his feet by the edge of the bed, steadied with a firm hand on his waist. The rings are cold against his skin. Another hand comes up to hold his face, only to slowly trail down and land on his neck. A thumb presses into the side of his neck and he knows that it must be over Zayn’s mark. Can feel the ache of it.

“What’s this, baby?” his voice is so deep he can feel the ripples of it down his spine.

“Zayn, he—“ he stutters as the thumb presses down more, “I-I told him off.”

Harry hums, disbelieving. Louis watches him as he falters for a second and his face morphs into something clearer, “Is this okay?”

There’s no hesitation in Louis’ answering nod. He wants this.

“Kneel.” Harry all but growls, jaw clenched again. He’s on his knees so fast he knows he’ll pay for it later, looking up at the man in front of him. He moves his hands to work at Harry’s belt, only to have them pushed away.

“Slow down, slut. You don’t get to do that,” he says with a smirk, watching as Louis whines. He works at the belt buckle himself before pulling it out and dropping it to the floor. The zipper comes down next and all Louis can focus on is the boxer-clad bulge. It’s so fucking hard already.

He looks up for permission, sighing in relief when he gets a nod in reply to his pleading eyes. Small hands make quick work of the trousers, pushing them down and wasting no time in removing the underwear. All seven inches of Harry’s cock now uncovered and close enough to touch. He’s glad he’s already on his knees because somehow even after all this time just the sight of it still makes him weak. He wraps his fingers around it, marvelling at the way it looks in his hand. Marvelling at the way the curly-haired man can’t hide how affected he is just by him touching it, a hand makes its way into his hair and tugs lightly. A command. A warning, perhaps.

If it were a different day, a different time, a far, far different situation, he’d tease. There are not many things in life he enjoys more than riling his boyfriend up. Fluttering fingertips, fleeting kisses and high-pitched, breathy moans. Always pushing, pushing Harry closer and closer to the edge until he finally snaps and takes control. He revels in it, in the power that surges through him when the other man finally breaks. Now is not the time for that though. He has no power here.

Tentatively, he starts to let his hand glide along the shaft, flicking his thumb over the tip to collect the precum that’s already steadily dripping. He loves how much Harry gets off on showing Louis who he belongs to. Part of him is going to miss it, now there’s no longer a reason for the jealousy (not that Harry knows that, of course). Pushing those thoughts aside, he moves closer to run his tongue along the length, savouring the taste. The hand in his hair flexes slightly and he knows that it’s only a matter of time before Harry loses his patience.

Carefully, he takes the head fully into his mouth and works on taking as much as he can, his hand never stopping its movement on the part he can’t quite fit.

A sharp intake of breath comes from above him and he looks up to find his boyfriend looking down at him. There’s something in his eyes that Louis can’t quite read. Suddenly, his mouth is empty and he’s being pulled back to his feet. A noise of protest attempts to leave his mouth but it’s quickly swallowed by urgent lips on his.

A strong arm wraps around his waist and pulls him close so they’re pressed against each other. The hand that was tangled in his hair moves to tenderly hold his face as they kiss deeper. No matter how rough Harry gets with him, he’s always careful. Always touches him like he’s something precious.

Harry’s kissing him like he’s trying to prove something. Louis thinks he might be but that doesn’t stop him from melting into it. Their mouths move together with precision; courtesy of years of practice. A sure tongue traces across his lower lip and he whimpers into the kiss, snaking his hand down to take hold of Harry’s abandoned cock. He tugs on it experimentally, earning a groan in response. He tightens his grip, continuing to work at it.

A hand he hadn’t even noticed had left his face clamps around his wrist, pulling it away. The kiss is broken, too, and Louis fights not to show his frustration. He knows that will only drag this torture out further.

“Get on the bed.” Harry orders.

He complies, easily. Knowing what his boyfriend wants, he pulls his own underwear off, trying to ignore the way his dick catches on the waistband in the process. There’s no time for that. He feels the eyes on his arse as he climbs onto the bed and crawls to the middle before laying down.

“Legs,” another command. Harry doesn’t move from the spot where he’s stood, instead nimbly removing his shirt and letting it drop to the floor.

Louis spreads his legs, twisting his hands in the sheets in an attempt to stop himself from putting his hands on his own body. He loves this.

Like he’s unable to keep away, Harry joins him on the bed. Settling on his knees between Louis’ open legs, he runs his ringed fingers down from his knees to his dainty ankles. He taps Louis’ ankle twice. An unspoken request. Quickly, Louis brings his knees up; feet planted firmly on the mattress. Harry’s eyes fall on his hole.

“Is it a bit sore?” he questions, humming in thought when Louis nods sheepishly in reply, “Did he fuck you good?”

“Never as good as you.” He answers truthfully. He catches the doubt that flickers across his face before it’s quickly schooled back into the usual cocky smugness.

“Right answer.” the words are followed by the touch of fingertips against his already-used hole. He gasps as a finger is pressed in just past the rim and pulled out again almost immediately.

Harry leans over, presumably to search for the lube he knows is in the bedside drawer, and Louis is once again struck by just how attractive this man is. He’s so big, not just in size but in _presence_ , and every inch of him is painted by the gods themselves, Louis thinks. His hair is longer than it’s ever been, curling around his ears and just brushing his shoulders. He’ll never stop being in awe of it and just how fucking good it looks on him. He finds it hard, sometimes--all the time--not to drop to his knees the second piercing green eyes land on his. He doesn’t think he quite believes in a higher power but he worships this man completely.

Lost in his thoughts, he vaguely registers the dull click of a bottle cap. He flinches slightly when a lubed finger presses into him, blinking up to find Harry looking back at him intensely.

“Please..” he whispers, trying to shift down onto the finger. The cocky bastard just works the finger in and out frustratingly slowly, knowing that it’s not going to be enough. Never enough.

“Do you think you deserve it?” Harry asks then. It hits a little too close to home. Of course, he doesn’t deserve it, he’s a piece of shit, but Harry is going to give it to him anyway. He always does.

Rather than killing the mood and voicing his insecurities, he simply nods. He can tell that Harry is far too affected to really punish him right now, wants him too much. He sighs in relief as a second finger joins the first, the sting making itself known now. A burning reminder of what he was doing just hours ago. He’s always liked a little bit of pain.

It doesn’t take long before a third finger is added and he’s about three thrusts away from begging, writhing against the sheets as a trickle of sweat runs down his thigh. Harry’s lazily pulling at his own cock while he pulls Louis apart, eyes blown. Louis wants to sit on his face.

“If you don’t get that in me in the next ten seconds, I'm leaving,” he says, trying to sound threatening but failing.

The fingers are gone, leaving Louis’ hole clenching on thin air. He whines.

“That’s mine. _You_ don’t tell _me_ what to do with it,” he mutters, words going straight to Louis’ neglected prick, “You know you need four fingers to take me.”

Louis shakes his head desperately, “Not when I’ve already been fucked.”

He knows exactly what those words will do and he’s proved right when Harry is suddenly over him, rubbing the head of his cock against his hole.

“If you’re going to be such a fucking brat about it, fine.” He pushes in, Louis gasping at the intrusion and immediately wrapping his legs around the other man so he can’t pull away, urging him to carry on. It hurts, Harry was right about him needing more prep than this, but he wants it so badly.

He throws his head back as the thick length stretches him more. Warm lips ghost along his exposed neck, making him shiver. The lips stop right where he knows the offending mark is. A claim made by another man, he knows it’s making Harry’s blood boil. Harry bottoms out right as he bites over the spot, below his ear. Louis moans, high and loud. It was already tender and now as his boyfriend tries to erase any trace of his betrayals, he’s overwhelmed. With pain, with pleasure, with _everything_.

Teeth scrape against sensitive skin. He runs trembling fingers across the expanse of Harry’s back, urging him to move. Thankfully, he complies, starting to rock his hips slowly. Louis, still not fully comfortable with the stretch, revels in it. He feels every slight movement with so much intensity, tightening his grip on the man and whispering a chorus of desperate, nonsensical pleas.

Harry continues with his mission to lay claim to Louis’ neck, sucking another mark into the dip of his collarbone. They’re not supposed to do this. Visible marks get them into trouble, Harry usually favouring leaving a trail of them along Louis’ thighs. Right now, however, Louis knows that he needs this. They need this. To leave something behind that won’t be easily hidden.

The weight on top of him eases as Harry regretfully pulls himself away and instead grips the headboard, leaving Louis to look up at him. He uses the new position to move faster, more force behind each thrust. His skin is glistening with sweat, muscles taut with the effort. His gaze never leaves the smaller man’s body. Louis watches as his eyes travel over him, from his already leaking cock lay flat against the swell of his soft belly, up to his chest, skimming across his pretty pink nipples and the tattoo he loves to trace with his tongue until his eyes finally land on his love’s own blue ones.

“You’re so beautiful,” the deep voice is awed, and Louis glows under the praise, “So beautiful.. And all mine,” he continues, punctuated by a deep thrust that feels right on the edge of where it’s meant to be, “Right?”

Louis whimpers but never breaks eye contact, couldn’t possibly fathom wanting to look anywhere but into adoring green eyes. He knows how desperate he sounds when he speaks, “All yours. Always--” he gasps as Harry almost hits it again, “Please.”

“Please what?”

Louis reaches his hand up to hook a finger on the dangling necklace, tugging it gently, and whispers-- pleads--, “Kiss me.”

He sees the moment Harry’s resolve breaks. He groans, letting go of the headboard and covering Louis’ body with his own, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. It’s all tongues and hot breaths and so, so much fucking love that Louis feels completely submerged in it. He moans into the other man’s mouth as he drives in hard and finally hits his prostate, pleasure burning through his body.

Harry’s relentless. He presses harder and deeper on every thrust, sending shockwaves along every nerve ending in Louis’ small body. They’re both loud, angelic moans and guttural groans join the squeak of the bedsprings and the thump of the headboard like some pornographic symphony.  
“You take me so well,” Harry whispers, mouth inches away from his, “already been fucked today and you’re still so fucking tight for me.”

Louis glows at the praise, too caught up in pleasure to speak.

“No matter who you fuck, no matter who you let into that pretty little hole, it’s _mine_ ,” he growls, “Only I can make you feel this good.” Another slam into Louis’ prostate.

All he can do is nod, nails digging into Harry’s back like it’s his only lifeline. He knows that he’s on the edge, so close to tumbling off of it. They’re a perfect fit, he never feels as full or as whole as when Harry is inside him. It’s always overwhelming, always dancing on the precipice of too much, but it’s _right_. Sex with Zayn was always good, always fun. He can’t lie and say he didn’t enjoy it, but when he’s here, in these moments, he knows it pales in comparison to what Harry gives him, and what he gives Harry in return. He feels like a fool for thinking anything could ever be more earth-shattering than the force of them, here, together.

Harry’s gone quiet, jaw clenched. Louis knows he’s close too. He looks him in the eye and moves a hand up to shove a hand into his hair, tugging gently, unable to form the words. Harry understands what he needs immediately. He shifts his weight onto one arm, something Louis would be salivating over if he wasn’t so focused on the way Harry’s hand is closing around his neglected prick, tugging it gently in time with his thrusts. It feels so good that he wants to scream, wants the whole world to know how Harry is making him feel.

He arches his back off the bed with a moan. His world is suddenly upended as Harry uses the arm that was holding himself up to hook under Louis’ back and pull him up. He sits back and pulls the smaller man onto his lap, never once disconnecting them. Louis almost wants to cry as he bounces on Harry’s cock, the new angle combined with the friction on his dripping prick doing wonders for him.

“I love you so much,” Harry says into his neck, voice laced with arousal--or something else, Louis can’t tell--the words feeling so much more intense in this bubble they’ve created, “Come for me, love.”

And he does. They do. They fall off the edge together, intertwined in every way possible.

-

The room is silent.

He’s not sure how much time has passed since they fucked, the come down from the high of the orgasm mostly a blur. He can remember Harry leaving him alone on the bed and the panic that shot through his body before the other man returned, armed with a damp cloth. Tenderly, he had wiped away the mess they made and pulled him up to help him into some pyjamas, sealing the gesture with a lingering kiss upon his sweaty forehead. Not a single word passed between them.

Now, an indeterminable amount of time later, they’re sitting side by side on the bed. The television is on, and though it’s muted and there are no subtitles to be seen, neither of them have looked away from it. There’s some shitty reality show on. Louis has no clue what is happening on the screen but there’s something disturbingly hypnotising about the silence paired with the visuals of screaming arguments between overdressed, overpaid women.

He understands, logically, that he can speak. He has the power to sweep away the awkwardness and fix this mess, but he doesn’t know how to. Some sick and twisted part of him _wants_ Harry to shout at him. Wants him to shatter the silence with scathing words and hatred.

For what feels like the first time in their relationship, Louis doesn’t know what Harry is thinking. Louis had felt the undercurrents of sadness in Harry’s every move earlier, had felt that there was something unsaid between them but couldn’t tell what. He wants to just open his mouth and ask, or to just finally come out with it and explain to him everything he has been through today. His choice. He can’t though, can’t seem to pry the words out of the cage they’re locked in.

He’s tired. Mentally and physically, he’s exhausted. He can’t fathom how sitting in painful silence is somehow easier than mending their relationship right now. There’s nothing he wants more in the world than for them to be okay, to get through this, but he can’t be the first one to move.

“It’s over, isn’t it?” The words shock Louis, he turns to look at Harry but he’s still staring at the tv screen.

He doesn’t really know what to say. He lets the words hang in the air for a second before settling on a slightly panicked, “What?”

Harry still isn’t looking at him. It’s unsettling. “We had a good run, and I don’t blame you for wanting him,” he sounds, to Louis, as if he’s trying to keep his voice even, “I don’t know if we can be best friends again right away, but I love you and I’m always going to support you.” He finishes his little speech with a dejected sigh, finally showing some emotion.

“What the actual fuck are you on about?”

Finally, Harry looks at him, brows furrowed in a way that Louis would be endeared by in any other circumstances. “Uh—“ he starts, the evident confusion on his face only deepening, “You want to be with Zayn?”

Louis sighs, “Harry, I ended it.”

Confusion quickly morphs into shock, “I—What?” He questions.

“I ended it today. We fucked, we talked, it’s done,” he says as if it’s as simple as that. He hopes, somewhat naively, that Harry will just accept it and they never have to talk about it again.

“You love him, though,” he states, a little too firmly.

Louis groans, frustrated. He wants to be more articulate, to get what he wants to say out without turning this into too much of a Thing, but he knows it’s too late for that.

“Of course I love him, but I’m here! With you! I’m choosing _you_!” he knows as soon as the words are out that they’re the wrong ones.

“The fuck do you mean? Honestly, I could have dealt with you falling out of love with me and wanting him, but you had to _think_ _about it_?!” He doesn’t sound as angry as he could be and Louis is thankful. Nobody wants to deal with an angry Harry.

“No—“ he sighs, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, sheltering himself from this conversation, “It’s not like that, Harry. It’s not. I was confused, yes, and I do love him, but it’s not … there wasn’t ever really a question.”

A grumbled “clearly there was” comes from Harry’s downturned mouth and Louis wants to cry.

“But there wasn’t! I think my guilt about my feelings for him was stronger than the actual feelings. I was just confused because he’s my best friend and the sex blurred the lines and-“

He’s cut off by a scoff, “The sex you didn’t put a stop to after these _feelings_ came about?”

“I—You—You let the sex happen! You practically fucking encouraged it!” Louis raises his voice, and Harry really does look mad now.

Louis watches as the man beside him takes what he assumes is a calming breath before speaking, coolly, “I let him fuck you because I thought you’d do it behind my back either way.”

That goes straight to Louis’ gut, twisting in it sharply, hurting more than he knows Harry intended. He’d never thought of it like that before, never considered that Harry could be seeing it that way.

He unfurls himself from the ball he’d tucked himself into, too nervous to stay in one position for long. He looks into Harry’s eyes and for the first time since making his decision, he’s worried that he’s fucked up. Not in choosing Harry, but in choosing at all. He wonders if maybe it would have been easier to live in the purgatory they were in before this.

“I would never, ever,” he starts, maintaining eye contact even though Harry’s gaze burns through him, “ _ever_ , cheat on you. The thought never once crossed my mind. If you felt like that, you should have fucking _told_ me, instead of making decisions for our relationship that you knew would hurt you.”

The eyes that are boring into his soften somewhat, but enough coldness remains that Louis’ heart sinks lower still.

Desperately, he continues, “He loves me. It’s hard to ignore when someone loves you like that. He’s my bloody best friend, of course I was going to be taken in by it. It’s not your fault, It’s not his, It’s all fucking mine. I’m a dickhead.” He’s crying, he realises, big fat tears pouring down his face and obscuring Harry’s form in front of him.

Suddenly, he’s being pulled into Harry’s side, both arms wrapping around him, one hand coming up to cradle his head gently. A kiss is pressed into his hair and it only makes him feel worse.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” the words are whispered, his voice isn’t angry anymore, only apologetic, “I know you wouldn’t do that. I trust you with my whole life, Louis.”

Louis sniffles, “You don’t trust that I chose you.”

“I do.”

“Don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don—“

Harry’s gentle laughter cuts him off, the movement of it jostling him slightly. “You really are a brat, you know?” he questions fondly.

Louis nods into his chest, tears still flowing but less urgently now. He pushes a hand through Harry’s grip on him to wipe some of the offending tears away, trying to compose himself.

“I’m sorry that it was ever a choice, I really am. The only reason I ever considered not choosing you, is because I felt like you deserved so much more than me.” It’s the truth, and he needs Harry to believe him more than he needs to breathe air.

“You’re an idiot,” Harry starts, moving the hand that’s cradling his head to instead make Louis look up at him, their faces close, “You’re so far out of my league you have two very famous and sought after popstars in love with you.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead rolling his eyes, causing Harry to smile and kiss the tip of his nose. “We can talk about it, okay? Without the accusations and anger.” Harry says, always too kind. Too good for him.

“Please,” Louis replies pathetically.

The curly-haired man nods, pressing another kiss to Louis’ nose and one to his cheek before guiding his head back to his shoulder. They sit like that for a moment, letting the calm wash over them. Harry’s hold on him hasn’t faltered, he’s tracing patterns on the skin just under the short sleeve on Louis’ top and it’s nice. Peaceful. Earlier, they had felt worlds apart despite being close enough to touch. Now, they’re enveloped in each other and his worries suddenly seem laughable. They’re in this together.

“Can I ask you a question?” Harry asks and the smaller man nods his assent right away, “Was there ever a moment where you felt like you loved me less than him?”

Louis thinks on it. Was there? He doesn’t have to think for long. He knows the answer.

“No.”

“No?” Harry questions, genuinely surprised by that.

“No. There were times, maybe, where I confused the friendship for a more intense love? I don’t know … but, it’s different with you. I don’t think it’s possible for me to love anything more than I love you. I’ll regret doubting that for the rest of my life.”

Harry takes a moment to let that sink in before simply nodding, “I understand. I can work with that.”

Louis snorts, “What is this, the ‘Save Larry Project’?”

“Oi!,” Harry flicks Louis’ arm with absolutely zero force, basically a poke, “This is our marriage we’re talking about!”

“Oh, a marriage is it? I must have lost my ring! Was Zayn the best man?” He cackles when there’s another, slightly more pointed flick to his arm, “Too soon?”

Harry groans, burying his face in his boyfriend’s hair and saying, muffled, “I think 50 years down the line it will _still_ be too soon.”

“Nah, he’s going to have to be my best man when you do finally put a ring on it, soz Haz.” It’s something they both know to be completely true. Zayn being Louis’ best man has never been in question. Never will be.

“Fine,” Harry concedes with faux grumpiness, very poorly acted as always, “It’ll be very therapeutic, having him right there when I finally kiss the bride.”

“Bride now is it?” He questions.

He can’t see Harry’s face but he can feel the smirk. He hates this man. “Of course, my beautiful blushing bride,” he says sincerely, taking a small hand in his and pulling it to his lips, Louis’ eyes tracking the movement.

Feeling heat spread across his cheeks, he curses. Fucking smug bastard. He pulls his hand away and pinches his obnoxious nose, smirking when Harry frowns petulantly. God, he loves him.

Louis presses in closer to kiss the pouting lips, both of them melting into it with no hesitation. It’s not as urgent as their earlier kisses, there’s no lingering fear or ulterior motives. They just kiss. Slowly, with each gentle brush of their lips, all of Louis’ worries float further and further away until they reach the far recesses of the back of his consciousness. None of it matters anymore.

Moments later, they reluctantly pull apart as Louis raises a hand to his mouth in a failed attempt to stifle a yawn. “I’m sorry, love... It’s been a long day,” he speaks through the yawn, tone apologetic. Harry, unbothered and smiling fondly, only shakes his head.

“No need to be sorry. We should both get some sleep.” He says and Louis definitely agrees, he doesn’t even want to know how many hours he has been awake at this point.

“We should talk more about this—us, in the morning, maybe?”

Harry nods, “Of course, there’s no rush. We’re okay.”

“Promise?”

“Always.”

Louis believes him. He reaches over to the bedside table and fumbles around until he finds the tv remote, using it to finally banish the somehow still screaming reality stars from his sight. As he does that, Harry takes care of turning the lamp off.

It’s dark now, the kind of dark that feels like it’s moving around you, twisting menacingly. Louis doesn’t like the dark very much, but he isn’t scared. Settling down into the soft bedding, they find each other easily. Familiar arms wrap around his middle and he leans back into the solid warmth he knows he’ll find there. Hot breath hits his neck and stubble tickles his skin as Harry buries his face in the back of his neck, pressing a kiss there.

“I love you.” The words are spoken so softly that he’s sure he would have missed them if they weren’t spoken so close to his ear.

“I love you more.” He replies easily, though he knows that while their love for each other is limitless, it’s also equal. That isn’t a question for him anymore.

Louis can feel Harry smiling against his skin and something about it makes his heart skip a beat. He’s content, he realises. For the first time in a long, long time, he doesn’t feel guilt looming over him and threatening to follow him whole. There are flickers, sure, there will always be regrets and fears and things he wants to lock away, but for now, he has made peace with his demons.

They have a long road ahead of them. Painful talks, raised voices and probably (definitely) a lot of tears but Louis knows that no matter what happens now, they’ll be okay. Harry can be stubborn, he can glare and give the silent treatment and hold onto a grudge for far longer than Louis has witnessed from anyone else, but he’s never been like that with Louis. They forgive each other, always, no matter the crime. What happened here is big. He knows that he’s lucky, that most couples would crumble under the weight of something this bad and he doesn’t take that for granted in the slightest. He knows that any other man would have left him long before it got this far, but Harry isn’t any other man. Harry is Harry, and Louis will never want anyone else again.

Behind him, the other man’s breathing is evening out, the rise and fall of his chest pressed to Louis’ back slowing to a calm, peaceful pace. Louis wants to follow him down the rabbit hole and into the enticing world of sleep, but his mind is still swirling. Not just yet, he tells himself; soon. Soon he can fall.

At the forefront of his mind is the previously well-locked door labelled ‘The Future’ that he rarely ever let himself peek into. He’s not sure why, entirely. Something about it always scared him. Between things in his past that he had no control over and the never-ending whirlwind that is their career, thinking of the future has always been out of the question. It’s too unreliable, too likely to be taken away from him if he finds something he wants too much, so he stayed away. He knew, however, that to truly see what the right path was, he had to look.

And so he did. Unsurprisingly, every thought he had of the future was filled to the brim with Harry. In every single scenario he imagined on the day he chose, Harry was by his side. He saw them continue to conquer the world together, long after the band fractures. He saw stage after stage, sometimes all five of them, sometimes four, sometimes just him alone with a sea of people but in each ambitious vision, it only took him a fraction of a second to find the green eyes he knows so well. He saw them being able to love each other openly, to stop hiding and step into the light as themselves. That particular one scared him because it’s something he’s had to suppress for so long, a dream he wanted so bad he thought it might break him. Pushing further into the future, he saw them married with a house full of children, golden pigtails and sticky fingers and so much joy that even the stars seem dull in comparison. Louis had realised, when he considered his future, that his choice had never really been a choice at all. In every scenario he could possibly think of, in every waking thought, in every universe, it’s Harry.

Here, in this bed, in the arms of the man he loves, he is whole. Whatever happens in the future, whether the things he wishes for so deeply come true or something entirely new surprises him, he’ll always have Harry, and that’s enough. More than enough. It’s everything.

He closes his eyes and lets sleep whisk him away. The arms around him never once break their hold, overseeing an unspoken vow to keep him safe, loved... Home.

The bed is warm, Harry is warmer and for once the warmth curls around him and seeps into his soul.

**Author's Note:**

> if you got to the end! thank you so much for reading <3 please leave kudos and maybe a comment if you want (it means a lot) 
> 
> find me on twitter @ platonicrose
> 
> also, BUY AND STREAM DEFENCELESS


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